Monday, June 18, 2007


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Sometimes, when I look into the face of a person I can see very, very deeply. This happens most often with children and elders, for somehow they have either not acquired so many layers of sheen to their "masks" or they have just lost layers due to attrition, to the flaking of the outer coil over time.

I wonder at the feelings that emerge in those moments, those moments of recognition, or some twisted sense of empathy. I sense the color and the flavors of the life of that person. I step beyond myself, beyond the lens, out past waving fields of composition, of perception and I just sit there with it for as long as I can, soaking in to my very core, what I am absorbing through my senses.

I wonder about the fears and the sadness. I wonder if this child will ever know that only when you can look yourself square in the eye and deeply in the heart and believe, really, truly, clap-your-hands believe that you are as amazing and wonderful as you are...only THEN will you be able to form healthy relationships with others. If that work is not done, then every connection will serve as a means to reflect to you that which you have not found in yourself.

I wonder.

I wonder what our children are learning about life now, about the world. And what are they taking to heart. I suppose one of my greatest disappointments in this lifetime has been that my children are so very different from me. They are card-carrying members of the Abercrombie Generation, one which I see as toxic with a serious case of AFFLUENZA. Spend, spend, fill the hole inside you with whatever feels best, just do it and your gonna look so fabulous doing it are you not??????

I spent the morning reading the entire trip blog of someone I very much admire.

Looking into the eyes of the people he met on his epic journey only brought it to home more for me. We are going to hell in a very pretty, good-smelling handbasket. There are people living without limbs, without family, without food...and my kids are worried about the pedicure they got and how it sucked.

I am sad and angry today about these things. It seems to me that we should, as people, as humans, welcome one another and celebrate who we are, sameness and differences manifest as bright colors on an infinite spectrum. It seems to me that there is much more to worry about than what your livingroom smells like.

I wonder what it will take to motivate "us" to live more deeply.

I wonder.

American Pie

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I try not to be judgemental. Or, more accurately, I try not to be critical. I think, as humans we judge all the time. It is how we move around in the world safely. I listen to myself when I hear some inside voice telling me something is "bad" or "good", and I try to understand where, from deep inside, that fear came.

I pride myself on my choice to let people be who they are, and to let them learn on their own path and find their own Gods, and follow their own dream.

But, for the life of me, I get boggled when I see something like this.

What sort of American Dream is it that speaks to spending hard earned money on a piece of paper, so that you can chase the possibility of having lots of MONEY MONEY MONEY...only to, when finding out one did not, throw that paper on the ground. The ground that many years ago people sailed to for freedom of religion and for a better life. There are men, women and children EVERYWHERE without food to eat, without clean water to drink or with which to bathe, and some people have this High Livin' Fantasy about cars and fancy clothes to which they prostitute the very core of existence, of subsistance.

It is the dream...the $5.00 dream, or the $1.00 dream or the Quick Pick dream.

Some seek the riches and don't even know they are standing on them now, they are drinking it now, they are breathing it NOW.

I do not ascribe to this American Dream. It makes me feel ashamed to be called American.

I was sitting in the sun, insanely orgasmic 75% cocoa chocolate melting in my mouth. The cats were stalking bugs, free at last to come out to play. Next door the McFireman family lives with their mountain of a dog, Molly. Two kids...about 3 and 1.5. Girls. Mom smokes, and my window is just in the right vortex, as I am overcome several times a day by clouds of nicotine running silenty into my room. And, then, the voices. Mom is a monotone, shrill sort of a bray. 3 is whiny. 1.5 is learning to talk. They are wandering around the yard:

Mom: "You WANNA USE CHALK???!"

1.5: "no..."




1.5 "no..."

And so it goes. I sat there annoyed at first, but then sliding into my most Stuart Wilde self decided to just let go and listen. I came up with several sides to this conversation. The most pressing to me at the moment was that it is NO WONDER kids grow into three year olds who repeat themselves and you to death. Like being pecked to death by ducks. The kid was *really* rather clear. Mom just pushed and pushed. For what? I would have kicked her in the shins if I were that kid. Or vomit on her shoe, yeah, that's it, vomit on the keds why dontcha.